THE  LIBRARY 
OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


Lake   Breezes 


BY 
ARTHUR  WILLIAM  FISHER 


THE  NEALE  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

440  FOUHTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK 
MCMXVIII 


Copyright,  1917,  by 
ARTHUR  WIILIAM  FISHER 


f>$ 

"// 

A^z  832 


TO  THE  MEMORY  OF 
MY  MOTHER 


• 


PREFACE 

Ever  since  childhood  I  have  listened  to  the 
story-ladened  breezes  as  they  wafted  over  the 
shore,  landward  or  lakeward,  depicting  as  they 
passed  the  beauties  of  nature,  or  recounting 
the  thoughts  and  deeds  of  men.  Charmed 
though  I  have  been  with  their  murmurings,  I 
have  not  always  been  able  to  interpret  or  re 
cord  them,  and  such  records  as  I  have  are  but 
jottings  or  sketches,  yet  to  the  sympathetic 
spirit  they  may  prove  the  needful  suggestion 
to  the  fuller  and  clearer  original. 

The  three  stories,  "  Fishin',"  "  Wadin',"  and 
"  Huntin',"  are  supposed  to  have  been  spoken 
by  a  small,  kindly  disposed  but  somewhat  ven 
turesome  boy  who  likes  to  relate  his  experi 
ences. 

In  the  verses  entitled  "  The  Spirit  of  Po 
etry,"  the  poetic  spirit  in  general  is  represented 
as  a  youth  singing  in  the  night,  yet  hopeful  for 
the  day  when  poetry  will  be  more  widely  read 
and  better  appreciated. 

The  "  Double  Red  Cross  Poems  "  are  thus 
named  because  their  subject,  alcohol,  is  one  of 
the  most  prolific  of  the  secondary  causes  of 
consumption. 


CONTENTS 

LAKE  BREEZES  PACK 

SUNSET  ON  THE  LAKE 1 

BREAKERS  ON  LAKE  ONTARIO 6 

A  CALM  ON  LAKE  ONTARIO 8 

THE  MOON'S  WEDDING 11 

FISHIN' 14 

WADIN' 17 

HUNTIN' 20 

LAND  BREEZES 

THE  MARKED  APPLE 25 

THE  HUMMING  BIRD'S  VISIT 27 

SUNSHINE  IN  SHADOW     .     *. 29 

To  A  YELLOW  BIRD 31 

THE  LEAF  AND  THE  BLOOM 34 

OUR  FIRST  THANKSGIVING 36 

A  CHILD'S  FOOTSTEPS 37 

THE  SPIRIT  OF  POETRY 40 

A  MOTHER  AND  HER  BABE 42 

THE  SCARECROW 47 

DRUM  TAPS 50 

THE  WITHERED  FLOWER 52 

A  WAYSIDE  FLOWER 54 

THE  CHIMES  OF  CORNELL 56 

DOUBLE  RED  CROSS  POEMS 

To  REVEREND  SAM  SMALL  .......  61 

JIM'S  FIRST  D!RINK 62 

THE  DRUNKARD'S  WIFE        ...  66 


SONGS  OF  LABOR  PAGE 

THE  MASTER  MASON 75 

HANS  SACHS 77 

A  SONG  OF  THE  FORGE 79 

THE  DRIVING  PLANE 82 

A  SONG  FROM  THE  PLOW      .      .      .      ...  84 

APPLE  BLOSSOMS 87 

GATHERING  APPLES 89 

THE  ORCHARD  IN  WINTER    .             ....  92 


LAKE  BREEZES 


SUNSET  ON  THE  LAKE 

OFT  in  the  stilly  eve, 

While  creeping  shadows  weave, 

I  watch  the  sky 
To  see,  as  darkness  lowers 
With  the  increasing  hours, 

The  clouds  sail  by. 

Afar  off  in  the  west, 

I  like  to  watch  them  best, 

O'er  wimpling  lake ; 
The  sun  there,  glowing  red, 
Dips  down  his  fervid  head, 

His  thirst  to  slake. 

Like  distant,  snow-capped  heights, 
Bathed  in  those  radiant  lights 

Of  golden  hue 

That  tinge  with  Alpine  glow 
Cragged  Switzer's  caps  of  snow, 

Appears  the  view. 

The  vivid  colors  glow 
In  an  expanding  bow 

O'er  fleecy  clouds ; 
While  lower  sinks  the  sun, 
The  limpid  liquids  run 

Like  winding  shrouds. 

[1] 


The  varied  pigments  spread 
From  violet  to  red 

Before  my  eyes, 

And  paint  with  penciled  streams 
That  magic  land  of  dreams 

In  gorgeous  dyes. 

Oh,  could  I  but  combine, 
With  Turner's  art  divine, 

The  hues  that  flow ; 
Could  I  the  picture  spread 
In  Milton's  lines  instead, 

The  world  might  know! 

The  rising  cloud-heads  stand 
Like  mounts  in  fairy  land, 

With  peaks  aglow; 
And  on  their  sides  the  trees 
Shake  in  the  balmy  breeze, 

With  plains  below; 

While  up  the  valleys  wide 
There  streams  a  roving  tide, 

A  warlike  host ! 
Oh,  list  the  sounds  afar ! 
The  battle  peal  of  war  I 

A  nation  lost ! 

The  smoke  of  wavy  blue 
Is  changed  to  livid  hue ! 
Back  comes  the  band! 

m 


Lo,  see  the  raging  fire ! 
A  conflagration  dire 
Sweeps  o'er  the  land ! 

The  flame  now  leaps  and  sags 
Like  hosts  of  battle  flags 

Tossed  on  the  air, 
When  o'er  the  rampart  goes 
An  army  in  the  throes 

Of  wild  despair ! 

While  still  the  conflicts  wage, 
And  leaping  fires  rage 

On  every  side, 
The  storms  arise  on  high, 
And,  sweeping  through  the  sky, 

Smite  far  and  wide ! 

Now  tints  of  every  hue 

Shoot  through  the  eternal  blue 

To  cloudy  flake, 
And  streams  of  feebler  light 
Assail  the  drawing  night 

On  land  and  lake. 

That  waving,  glimmering  band, 
Like  a  protecting  hand, 

Lies  on  the  flood; 
And  for  the  beating  sail, 
Its  kindly  works  avail 

To  quell  the  feud. 
[3] 


Far  o'er  the  waves  they  reach, 
Unto  the  pebbly  beach 

And  jutting  piers; 
Those  struggling,  straggling  streams 
From  that  bright  land  of  dreams, 

Allay  our  fears. 

And  now  o'erhangs  the  east, 
To  swell  the  brilliant  feast, 

The  twilight  arc, 
A  rosy  tinted  bow, 
Reflected  sunset  glow, 

Hovering  earth's  dark. 

And  sometimes  I  have  seen, 
Arching  the  rising  e'en, 

A  rainbow  bright, 
When  closed  a  sultry  day 
With  welcome  shower's  play 

And  clearer  night. 

But  lo !  now  sinks  the  sun ; 
The  strong  old  monarch's  done; 

He  sheathes  his  glave; 
His  round  and  chubby  face, 
Like  globe  of  molten  glass, 

Sinks  on  the  wave ! 

Yet,  like  the  warrior  bold, 
Who,  dying,  keeps  his  hold 
Upon  his  bow, 
[4] 


A  parting  shot  he  slings, 
As  o'er  the  sky  he  flings 
The  afterglow. 

Again  the  golden  light 
Transforms  the  murky  night, 

And  tints  the  sky 
With  green  and  yellow  and  red 
O'er  all  the  cloudy  bed 

That  floats  on  high. 

Now  darkness  comes  apace 
To  fill  the  awful  space, 

A  somber  pall ! 
And  with  the  dingy  bars, 
The  moon  and  silvery  stars : 

Night  shadows  all! 


[5] 


BREAKERS  ON  LAKE  ONTARIO 

the  eastern  sky  is  brightening 
With  the  glory  of  the  sun, 
While  with  timid  streams  of  lightening 
Now  the  waves  are  overrun! 
Gleam !  gleam !  gleam ! 

Roll  they  onward,  ever  shoreward, 

With  a  vast,  unceasing  roll; 
Comb  they  downward,  ever  inward, 

Proud  and  hoarv  reach  their  goal ! 
Roll!  roll!  roll! 

Dashing  onward,  dashing  forward, 

Up  against  the  rocky  shore; 
Dashing  inward,  dashing  backward, 

Far  into  the  rocks  they  gore! 
Dash!  dash!  dash! 

Splashing  upward,  splashing  skyward, 
Like  the  screaming  gulls  they  soar; 

Splashing  landward,  splashing  seaward, 
With  foul  turbulence  and  roar! 
Splash!  splash!  splash! 

Break  they  now,  and,  backward  hurling, 

Gnash  their  teeth  in  angry  foam! 
Forward,  and  again  they're  curling, 
On,  in  seried  ranks  they  come! 
Break !  break !  break ! 
[6] 


Wheel  the  sea-gulls  soaring,  soaring, 

With  their  peevish,  piercing  cry ; 
Yonder,  sailors  tossing,  tossing, 

Scan  the  shore  with  eager  eye! 
Toss !  toss !  toss ! 

Moans  the  wind  more  hoarsely,  hoarsely, 

Till  the  setting  of  the  sun ; 
Beats  the  waters  fiercely,  fiercely, 

Till  the  waves  still  higher  run ! 
Blow!  blow!  blow! 

Sighs  the  night  wind  howling,  howling, 
While  a  "  boom!  "  breaks  on  the  air; 

Soars  the  rocket  screaming,  screaming, 
Pierces  through  the  wild  despair! 
Whir!  whir!  whir! 

Runs  the  life  buoy  outward,  shoreward. 
Passing  o'er  the  conquered  waves, 

Through  the  storm  wind,  through  the  breakers. 
Till  the  crew's  last  man  it  saves ! 
Save !  save !  save ! 

Once  again  the  morning's  breaking, 
Finds  the  wreckage  on  the  shore; 

Still  the  surging  waves  are  dashing, 
But  the  sailors  toss  no  more. 
Wash!  wash!  wash! 


m 


A  CALM  ON  LAKE  ONTARIO 

FAR  to  eastward,  far  to  westward, 
Far  as  human  eye  can  reach, 

There's  no  ripple  on  the  waters, 

There's  no  wave  laps  up  the  beach. 

In  the  deep  vault  of  the  heavens 
Floats  no  cloud  of  livid  hue ; 

Floats  no  bird  on  tireless  pinions 
Far  into  the  unknown  blue. 

Now  the  lake  lies  in  a  slumber, 
Resting  from  his  fitful  storm ; 

He  betrays  nowhere  a  signal 
Of  his  yester  writhing  form. 

Like  a  wild  beast  now  he's  sleeping, 

Peacefully  he  lies  at  rest; 
He's  no  longer  tossing,  heaving; 

Not  a  motion  stirs  his  breast. 

Here  and  there  upon  the  water 
Sits  a  duck  or  errant  gull, 

Peering  with  a  curious  quaintness 
At  a  twin-like  phantom  foul; 

Or,  perhaps,  with  cunning  glances, 
Through  the  limpid  waters  cast, 

[8] 


Sees  the  pebbles  on  the  bottom, 
Or  the  boulders,  brown  and  vast. 

In  and  out  among  the  boulders 
Dart  the  fish  in  playful  glee, 

Heeding  not  their  fearful  watchers, 
Sailing  there  all  silently. 

Now  they  nestle  in  the  tree-tops, 
Mirrored  in  the  roving  tide; 

They  indulge  an  envied  fancy 
Which  in  nature  is  denied. 

In  the  dim,  uncertain  distance, 
Juts  a  headland  from  the  shore, 

Bathes  its  feet  in  cooling  waters, 
But  it  dares  not  venture  more ; 

Or,  yet  farther  from  the  waters, 
Bends  the  haze  about  a  wood, 

Veils  it  in  a  misty  background 
With  a  glorious  sisterhood. 

Strayed  and  wandered  are  the  sisters, 
All  along  the  plashy  shore, 

Wreathed  in  a  fantastic  garland, 
Even  as  it  was  of  yore. 

Out  upon  the  lake's  broad  bosom 
Lies  an  idly  flapping  sail; 

[9] 


Idly  lies,  nor  wind  nor  motion 
Does  its  onward  course  avail. 

Thus  the  water  lies  in  stillness 
Till  the  cooling  evening  breeze 

Rises,  ruffles  on  the  surface, 
Flutters  in  the  border  trees. 


[10] 


THE  MOON'S  WEDDING 

SLOWLY  the  sun,  descending, 

Had  parted  with  the  day; 
Slowly  the  tall  shades,  wending 

Timorous  o'er  the  bay, 
Quaking  and  darkly  fingered, 

Had  ever  bolder  grown ; 
No  more  the  sun  elves  lingered; 

They  all  had  meekly  flown. 

High  midst  the  clouds  of  heaven 

Arose  the  silvery  moon, 
Seeking  the  faithful  seven; 

And  then  almost  as  soon, 
Faint  in  the  far  off  distance, 

The  twinkling  of  a  star 
Sent  forth  its  bright  assistance 

In  guilded  chariot  car. 

Back  o'er  the  shimmering  waters 

In  reverential  fear, 
The  woodland  witch's  dark  daughters 

Contemned  their  nobler  peer; 
Back  'neath  the  border  bushes, 

Back  to  the  reedy  fen, 
They  slunk  among  the  rushes, 

Down  to  their  horrid  den. 


[11] 


Bright  with  the  dancing  streamers, 

The  tiny  wavelets  flow; 
As  bright,  two  youthful  dreamers 

Their  moonlit  journey  go 
Along  the  rippling  river, 

Upon  the  joyful  lake, 
Where  fairy  moonbeams  quiver 

In  many  a  feathery  flake. 

Sprightly  the  oars  are  dripping 

With  brightly  beaming  pearls ; 
Gay  o'er  the  waters  skipping, 

The  happiest  of  girls. 
Oh,  hark!  the  lark  is  singing! 

Hear  ye  the  nuptial  tune? 
She's  now  with  laughter  ringing! 

Oh,  merry  month  of  June! 

They  seek  the  bright  reflection 

In  trailing  garments  white; 
The  moon,  his  fair  election, 

The  lake  shall  wed  to-night ; 
By  hosts  she  comes  attended, 

But  far  the  loveliest  she 
Of  all  the  welkin's  blended 

Bright  bands  of  minstrelsy. 

Now  tramp  the  holy  marchers 

In  stately  bright  array, 
As  move  the  gleaming  archers 
[12] 


Silently  up  the  bay ; 
They  hold  their  proud  dominions 

O'er  land  and  sea  and  air,    . 
Nor  rest  their  golden  pinions 

Till  wed  the  native  pair. 

Then  straight  the  youthful  lovers 

Are  homeward  gaily  sped 
Ere  when  the  weird  witch  hovers, 

Slow  and  painful  and  dread; 
Ardent  their  hearts  are  burning, 

By  tender  fancies  fed; 
Eagerly  they  are  yearning 

The  day  when  they  shall  wed. 


[13] 


FISHIN' 

I'VE  been  watchin'  clouds  dis  mornin', 

An'  dey're  cumin'  from  de  west; 
When  de  win'  cums  down  a-whoopin', 

Den's  when  I  likes  fishin'  best; 
An',  you  bet,  we're  goin'  a-fishin', 

Bill  an'  me  an'  brudder  Dan, 
Fur  I've  got  a  lot  uv  bait-wurms 

In  dis  ole  termater  can. 

I  jus'  likes  ter  go  a-fishin' 

When  de  win'  is  blowin'  so ; 
But  de  bugs  on  dese  pertaters 

I  mus'  git  befor'  I  go  — 
Dare's  dat  gobbler !  pesky  nigger ! 

Spreads  his  tail  out  like  a  fan! 
Guess  I'll  t'row  'im  out  sum  bait-wurms 

From  dis  ole  termater  can. 

I  kin  never  pik  dese  bugs  off 

Till  de  sinkin'  uv  de  sun; 
All  de  time  dat  gobbler's  cumin' ; 

Den  I  takes  my  heels  an'  run. 
Guess  I'll  leave  dese  ole  pertaters, 

Wid  deir  bugs  an'  turkey  clan, 
Take  my  pole  an'  rigglin'  bait-wurms 

In  dis  ole  termater  can. 


Don't  like  lickin's  much,  I  tell  yer; 

Billy  says  dey're  lots  uv  fun ; 
I  can't  see  it  all  de  samey, 

'Specially  when  my  luck  is  run ; 
Makes  'im  dance,  I  notice,  allus, 

When  'e  gits  de  ole  rattan; 
Den  'e  never  t'inks  uv  fishin' 

Wid  dis  ole  termater  can. 

But  I  guess,  when  no  one's  lookin', 

I'll  steal  roun'  dat  apple  tree ; 
Dare's  de  place  (I'll  'member  it  allus!) 

Where  de  ole  buck  cum  fur  me! 
Bill  an'  me  were  goin'  a-fishin', 

But  de  fence  I  couldn't  scan  — 
Gee !  you'd  ought  ter  heard  de  clatter 

Uv  dis  ole  termater  can! 

T'rough  de  orchard  an'  de  wood  lot, 

Bill  an'  me,  we  had  to  steal; 
All  de  same,  we  went  a-fishin' ; 

Got  free  bull'eads  an'  an  eel ; 
Den  we  fought  we'd  go  a-wadin' 

In  de  crick  where  I  could  span; 
Pulled  our  stockin's  off  an'  hid  'em 

In  dis  ole  termater  can. 

Since  den  I  ain't  been  a-fishin', 
'Specially  in  a  drizzlin'  rain, 
'Cause  when  I  cum  back  a-drippin', 
[15] 


Sumhow  I  can't  quite  explain ; 
But  de  world  is  growin*  older, 

An'  sum  day  I'll  be  a  man ; 
Den  I  guess  I'll  go  a-fishin' 

Wid  dis  ole  termater  can! 


[16] 


WADIN' 

ONE  warm  afternoon  las'  summer, 

When  de  win*  was  blowin*  hot, 
I  went  down  to  go  in  wadin' 

Wid  anudder  little  tot. 
Mudder  tol'  me  not  to  spatter, 

'Cause  I'd  get  my  clo'es  all  wet, 
But,  sumhow,  when  I  am  wadin', 

I  most  allus  will  ferget. 

Fer  a  long  time  we  were  busy 

Diggin'  wells  into  de  sand, 
Skippin'  stones,  an'  makin'  houses, 

Writin'  names  upon  de  strand; 
Den  we  rolled  our  pants  up  higher, 

Waded  up  an'  down  de  shore, 
An'  we  run  an'  splashed  de  water 

Up  behind  an'  up  before. 

Well  I  know  I  hadn'  ought  to, 

But  when  Joe  went  splashin'  by, 
Seemed  as  dough  I  mus'  splash  higher, 

An'  de  water's  never  dry ; 
So  we  both  jus'  splashed  our  bestest, 

As  we  broke  into  a  trot, 
An'  de  harder  we  kept  runnin', 

Why,  de  wetter  we  both  got. 


[17] 


Den  we  waded  in  de  water 

Jus'  de  furdest  dat  we  dared, 
Till  de  water  cum  up  higher 

Dan  we  eider  uv  us  cared; 
An'  I  can't  explain,  but  sumhow 

I  jus'  slipt,  an*  down  I  sat; 
Joe,  he  laft,  an'  called  me  "  lubber," 

So  I  pushed  him  right  down  flat. 

Den  we  both  were  in  a  pickle, 

An'  we  almos'  had  to  cry, 
So  we  fought  we'd  go  in  swimmin' 

While  our  clo'es  were  hung  to  dry ; 
But  dere  was  no  tights  or  bat'-'ouse 

Fer  a  feller  in  distress, 
So  de  bushes  giv  us  shelter, 

An' —  why,  nature  giv  de  dress  — 

Gee !  I  never  fought  uv  lookin' 

If  de  wimin  might  be  round! 
Had  dey  caught  us,  golly  wilkin! 

I  would  sunk  into  de  ground !  — 
But  we  skipped  into  de  water, 

An'  we  got  behind  a  tree, 
So  if  mudder  came  a-huntin', 

She  would  have  to  hunt,  by  gee! 

So  we  kept  under  de  water, 

Or  our  clo'es  we'd  skip  an'  try, 
But  it  seemed  de  more  we  tried  'em, 
[18] 


Dat  de  slower  dey  would  dry ; 
So  de  next  time  I  go  wadin' 

Wid  de  udder  little  chaps, 
I  will  put  my  clo'es  to  dryin' 

Jus'  before  dey're  wet,  per'aps. 

'Cause  strange  t'ings  are  apt  to  'appen 

If  a  feller  does  ferget, 
An'  he  splashes  in  a-wadin', 

An'  'e  gits  'is  clo'es  all  wet; 
Fer  'is  mudder's  sure  to  know  it, 

Dough  'e  t'inks  'e  dried  'em  well, 
An'  de  way  she  makes  'im  'member 

Den,  I  guess  I  needn'  tell. 


[19] 


HUNTIN' 

WHEN  I  was  a  little  feller, 

Oh,  it's  awful  long  ago ! 
When  de  green  leaves  all  turned  yeller, 

Most  a  year,  I  guess,  or  so, 
Nick  an'  me  an'  Bill  axed  mudder, 

Den  went  huntin'  in  de  wood. 
(Nick's  my  dog,  an'  Bill's  my  brudder; 

Took  'em  'long  to  keep  'em  good.) 

Bill's  a  big  boy,  an'  'e's  older, 

So  when  we  went  on  a  hunt, 
He  could  carry  on  his  shoulder 

De  ole  gun  dat  made  me  grunt ; 
Den  de  big  game,  squirrels  an'  rabbits, 

Stopped  an'  looked  an'  turned  an'  run; 
Billy  knew  most  all  deir  habbits, 

An'  'e  popped  'em  wid  de  gun. 

Once  I  saw  a  chipmunk  peepin' 

From  behind  a  beechnut  tree ; 
Now  I  knew  'e  wasn't  sleepin' 

From  de  way  'e  winked  at  me; 
But  you  bet  dat  I  felt  bigger 

When  I  laid  across  a  stump 
De  ole  gun,  an'  pulled  de  trigger  — 

Whew !  I  got  de  biggest  bump ! 


[20] 


Billy  said  de  gun  was  ready 

For  de  rabbits  an'  such  game, 
So  I  held  'er  good  an'  steady, 

But  she  kicked  me  jus'  de  same ; 
Bruised  my  finger,  cheek  an'  shoulder, 

An'  she  knocked  me  good  an'  flat ; 
But  de  chipmunk  was  not  bolder, 

For  I  got  de  worst  of  dat. 

Hit  'im?     Well,  per'aps  I  couldn', 

But  de  way  I  made  'im  run 
Ought  to  make  'im  know  'e  shouldn' 

Ever  wink  into  a  gun. 
Billy  almost  died  wid  laughter, 

But  I  guess  he  didn'  know 
How  a  feller  feels  right  after 

He's  been  out  a-huntin'  so. 

Den  I  saw  a  diver  swimmin' 

On  de  lake,  right  near  de  shore, 
So  I  sent  de  shot  a-skimmin' — 

But  'e  dove,  jus'  like  before; 
Guess  *e  must  'ave  seen  me  blinkin5 

After  I  had  aimed  de  gun, 
For  'e  dove  in  just  a  winkin'; 

Seemed  as  dough  'e  liked  de  fun. 

Soon  I  saw  a  rabbit  jumpin* 

T'rough  de  bushes  to  de  road, 
So  I  waited  for  de  t'umpin' 


Billy  give  anudder  load. 
How  dat  rabbit  went  a-bobbin'! 

Den  'e'd  stop  an'  look  aroun', 
Just  as  you  'ave  seen  a  robin 

Look,  an'  hop  along  de  groun'. 

Maybe  you  will  t'ink  it's  funny, 

An'  I'm  willin'  dat  you  should, 
But  I  couldn'  shoot  dat  bunny, 

As  'e  hopped  along  de  wood; 
So  I  called  de  leetle  feller, 

But  'e  pricked  his  ears,  an'  run ; 
Yet  I  know  dat  I  should  beller 

If  I'd  hurt  'im  wid  dat  gun. 

So  no  more  I'm  goin'  a-huntin' 

For  de  bunnies  wid  a  gun, 
'Cause  I'm  sure  to  git  a  buntin', 

An'  I  don'  much  like  de  fun ; 
An'  besides  I've  been  a-t'inkin*, 

Ever  since  dat  huntin*  day 
When  I  saw  dat  chipmunk  winkin', 

Dat  for  him  it  wasn'  play. 


[22] 


LAND  BREEZES 


THE  MARKED  APPLE 

ALONG  a  dusty  country  road 

Came  two  small  boys  one  autumn  day ; 
Each  with  his  slate  and  book,  a  load, 

They  often  stopped  to  look  or  play. 

The  tempting  dust  their  bare  brown  feet 
In  clouds  sent  flying  in  the  air, 

Until  the  boys  that  were  so  neat, 
Came  into  school  a  dirty  pair. 

The  school  bell  rang ;  they  took  their  seat ; 

Then  each  one  from  his  pocket  drew 
A  fine  red  apple,  large  and  sweet, 

And  a  sly  glance  at  the  teacher  threw. 

The  morning's  work  had  well  begun, 
And  each  was  busy  with  his  task, 

When  little  Ben,  the  older  one, 

"  Swap  apples,  Joe?  "  was  heard  to  ask. 

The  trade  was  quickly  made,  and  then, 
To  make  the  victory  more  secure, 

With  furtive  glances,  elfin  Ben 
Quick  bit  his  apple  to  the  core. 

With  mouth  so  full  of  luscious  taste 
The  juice  bedribbled  to  his  chin, 


The  naughty  Ben,  in  fearful  haste, 
Had  set  the  whole  school  in  a  grin. 

The  teacher  from  his  work  looked  up, 
And,  with  an  ill  sustained  grace, 

Straight  asked  the  errant  "  little  pup  " : 
"  Why,  Ben,  what  ever  ails  your  face  ?  " 

Rubbing  the  floor  with  his  bare  toe, 

While  big  tears  fell  from  drooping  head: 

"  We  traded  apples,  me  an'  Joe, 

An'  I  just  marked  mine,  sir,"  he  said. 


[26] 


THE  HUMMING  BIRD'S  VISIT 

IT  was  a  sprightly  humming  bird 

That  skipped  from  flower  to  flower, 

And  sipped  the  golden  nectar  sweet 
Within  the  fragrant  bower, 

While  dallying  summer  breezes  bore 
Their  perfume  in  a  shower. 

'Twas  round  among  the  flowers  I  spied 

The  gaudy  little  thing; 
His  throat  was  banded  red  and  white, 

A  dainty  green  his  wing; 
But  all  in  vain  I  waited  there 

For  him  to  light  and  sing. 

Into  the  scented  rose  he  dove, 

And  the  nasturtiums  red; 
He  wooed  the  honeysuckle  coy; 

The  aster  turned  her  head; 
She  hardly  thought  his  throbbing  wings 

Would  give  him  time  to  wed. 

The  dahlia  gave  approving  nods ; 

She  thought  them  nicely  paired; 
The  fuchsia  lent  a  happy  smile; 

The  larkspur  hardly  cared; 
When  love-in-a-mist  he  dropped  and  kissed, 

The  stocks  stood  still  and  stared. 

[27] 


The  lily  turned  quite  pale  with  fear 

Lest  he  should  pass  her  by; 
And  near  a  lady's  slipper  watched ; 

A  tear  stood  in  her  eye ; 
But  when  he  came  and  went,  she  blushed, 

And  heaved  a  parting  sigh. 

He  stooped  to  kiss  a  pansy  prim; 

Up  went  her  pretty  face ; 
Then  to  her  daisy  friend  she  turned, 

To  borrow  her  fine  lace, 
Should  such  a  handsome  chap  return 

A  lover  to  the  place. 

He  went  around  again  to  each, 

As  does  the  parting  swain; 
Then  jealous  Zephyr  blew  the  maids, 

And  blew  and  shook  amain ; 
But  still  they  turned  their  heads,  and  said 

"  We  hope  you'll  come  again." 


[28] 


SUNSHINE  IN  SHADOW 

BACK  from  memory's  ancient  halls 
Come  the  thoughts  of  other  times, 

When  we  bartered  duty's  calls 
For  the  poets  and  their  rhymes. 

Often  through  the  silent  gloom 
Of  those  halls  so  dark  and  drear, 

Shines  as  from  an  inner  room 
One  lone  picture  passing  dear; 

Shines  and  glows  in  darkest  hours, 
Shedding   forth   its    radiant   light, 

When  the  tempest  round  me  lowers, 
When  the  noonday  seems  as  night. 

Still  I  see  that  gentle  smile; 

Still  those  blue  eyes  twinkle  down; 
From  all  cares  they  yet  beguile; 

Never  do  they  wear  a  frown. 

Ever  as  the  way  grows  dim, 

Those  kind  eyes  in  ambush  hide, 

Peering  through  their  dusky  brim, 
Cheer  me  on,  and  never  chide. 

Even  now,  in  later  years, 

Come  those  eyes  so  bright  and  fair, 
As  I  saw  them  through  my  tears, 

Yonder  morning,  on  the  stair. 
[29] 


And  I  watch  their  sparkling  bloom 
Through  the  memory's  ebbing  sway, 

As  in  blinding  tears  they  come, 
And  in  tears  they  float  away. 


[30] 


TO  A  YELLOW  BIRD 

I  SEE  thee,  little  songster  true, 

Out  in  the  old  plum  tree, 
Thy  pretty  cap  and  golden  hue, 

As  handsome  as  can  be. 

The  beauteous  plumage  of  thy  breast 

Is  thy  deserved  gain; 
It  marks  the  tenor  of  thy  nest, 

And  swells  the  happy  strain. 

I  see  thee,  little  yellow  bird, 
And  hear  thy  gladdening  song; 

No  note  of  love  that  I  have  heard 
So  cheers  the  world  along. 

I  hear  thee  warble  out  thy  praise 
Of  bird  and  beast  and  bee, 

And  hear  them  joyful  peans  raise 
In  love  returned  to  thee. 

To  thy  fine  art  teach  me  the  way 
That  I  may  join  the  throngs, 

And  bring  to  thee  in  humble  lay 
What  praise  to  thee  belongs. 

From  bird  or  beast  or  lonely  flower, 
From  nature's  myriad  throats, 

[31] 


Didst  thou  not  learn  the  wondrous  power 
That  hovers  in  thy  notes? 

Or  is  it  thy  reflection  fair 

In  every  living  thing, 
That  brings  to  thee  contentment  rare, 

And  makes  thy  heart  to  sing? 

'Tis  not  the  stress  of  busy  life 

Excites  thy  throbbing  brain ; 
*Tis  not  the  care  of  toil  and  strife 

Compels  thy  sweet  refrain. 

Oh,  no,  my  little  bird,  I  know 

The  fount  of  thy  unrest, 
For  on  that  old,  bent  plum  tree  bough 

I  see  thy  brooding  nest. 

And  there  thy  mate  among  the  leaves 

Cares  for  thy  little  ones; 
And  oh,  what  care  to  them  she  gives! 

From  thence  thy  wondrous  tones! 

From  thence  and  from  her  love  to  thee 

And  thine  to  her,  O  bird, 
Must  come  those  songs  more  glad  and  free 

Than  I  have  ever  heard. 

Thou  sing*st  to  her  of  the  world  around, 
And  to  the  world  of  her, 
[32] 


Until  the  winds  with  songs  redound, 
And  mutual  love  confer. 

I  hear  thee  at  the  morning  light, 

At  noontide  and  at  eve, 
Singing  the  way  of  life  and  right, 

That  men  may  better  live. 

I  hear  thee  through  thy  daily  life ; 

No  cavil  of  right  and  wrong; 
With  all  the  world  thou  hast  no  strife, 

Thou  happy  might  of  song. 

0  noble  bird,  how  in  thy  life 
A  precious  boon  was  given, 

To  calm  in  men  their  passions  rife, 
And  make  of  earth  a  heaven ! 

1  bless  thee,  little  songster  dear, 

That  in  the  old  plum  tree 
Thou  cam'st  to  dwell  by  the  window  here, 
And  sing  thy  songs  to  me. 

Oh,  come  thou  nigh  us  every  year, 

And  sing  thy  songs  so  gay ; 
So  fill  the  duller  days  with  cheer, 

And  drive  the  cares  away. 


[33] 


THE  LEAF  AND  THE  BLOOM 

WERE  I  the  leaf 

And  thou  the  bloom 

Upon  the  tree, 
In  space  more  brief 
Would  there  be  room 
For  you  and  me? 

0  sweetest  breath 
Of  morning  air 

That  comes  from  thee! 
No  sound  of  death 
For  happy  pair 
Like  you  and  me! 

1  wonder  now 

If,  far  away, 

A  bird's  sweet  song 
Should  reach  this  bough, 
Would  its  charmed  sway 
The  hour  prolong? 

No  love  like  thine, 
That  fills  the  air, 

Needs  birdie's  song 
To  sweet  entwine 
Enraptured  pair, 
Or  hold  it  strong. 

[a*] 


Come,  then,  my  love, 
In  purest  bliss 

I  greet  thee  here, 
'Mid  smiles  above, 
With  sweetest  kiss 
Of  all  the  year ! 

Oh,  happy  hour, 
When  Love  departs 

From  his  fair  throne 
To  seek  the  bower 
Of  kindred  hearts, 
And  make  them  one! 


[35] 


OUR  FIRST  THANKSGIVING 

WHEN  the  summer  days  are  over, 

And  the  fields  have  lent  their  spoil, 
We  in  grateful  memory  ever 

Turn  to  harsh  New  England  soil, 
Where  in  weary,  hopeful  watching, 

On  a  wild  and  foreign  strand, 
Singing,  praying,  clearing,  planting, 

Dwelt  the  little  Pilgrim  band. 

We  have  heard  how  in  the  autumn, 

Thankful  for  the  garnered  grain, 
For  the  birds  and  beasts  of  forest, 

For  the  fishes  of  the  main, 
They  observed  a  joyous  feast-day, 

Storied  Plymouth  Rock  beside, 
With  the  redmen  and  their  chieftain, 

Massasoit,  the  true  and  tried. 

We  have  heard  through  sequent  ages 

How  the  little  band  has  thrived; 
We  have  heard  and  seen  with  wonder 

What  a  blessing  they've  contrived; 
But  in  doubtful  moments  only, 

When  dull  clouds  bedim  our  way, 
Do  we  honor  fully,  truly 

That,  our  first  Thanksgiving  Day. 


[86] 


A  CHILD'S  FOOTSTEPS 

I  WALKED  abroad  one  winter  day, 
When  piercing  blasts  blew  chill, 

And  drifting1  snow  filled  up  the  way, 
And  circled  round  the  hill. 

Some  rustling-  leaves  might  still  be  seen 

Hovering  around  a  tree, 
And  as  they  shook  and  flew  between, 

A  shiver  ran  through  me. 

As  through  the  street  I  wandered  on, 
Though  bleak  the  wind  did  blow, 

I  saw  the  way  a  child  had  gone, 
From  footprints  in  the  snow. 

I  followed  to  the  graveyard  gate, 
And  on  among  the  stones ; 

I  hastened,  ere  it  be  too  late, 

Whence  came  some  sobbing  tones. 

A  little  girl  scarce  six  years  old 
Sat  crouching  on  the  ground, 

And  by  her  side,  with  ample  fold, 
A  cloak  lay  o'er  a  mound. 

"  My  little  girl  what  do  you  here 
In  such  a  bitter  storm  ?  " 

[37] 


I  asked,  nor  could  restrain  a  tear 
At  this  sweet  childish  form. 

And  as  I  took  her  in  my  arm, 

And  wrapt  the  cloak  around 
To  shield  her  from  the  tempest's  harm, 

Her  simple  grief  I  found: 

"  O  sir,  it  is  so  cold  today, 

And  mama's  all  alone, 
And  when  the  wind  blew  through  this  way, 

I  thought  I  heard  her  moan. 

"  They  told  me,  when  she  went  away, 

She  would  come  back  again; 
But  I  have  watched  most  every  day, 

Through  all  the  snow  and  rain ; 

"  And  when  to-day  she  did  not  come, 
Her  large,  blue  cloak  I  found, 

And  started  with  it  from  my  home 
To  lay  it  on  her  mound. 

"  My  papa  says  that  in  the  spring, 

When  Vay  up  in  the  tree 
A  little  bird  begins  to  sing, 

She  may  come  back  to  me. 

"  O  sir,  can  you  not  tell  me  true 
Where  mama  dear  has  gone, 
[38] 


And  why  she  leaves  the  whole  day  through 
Her  little  girl  alone?  " 

I  sighed,  and  stroked  her  sobbing  head, 

Until  her  grief  had  flown; 
I  could  not  answer,  "  She  is  dead," 

For  I  had  wiser  grown. 

Who  is  so  wise  that  he  can  tell, 

When  parents  coldly  lie, 
The  meaning  of  the  tolling  bell? 

Fond  hope:  they  cannot  dieJ 

Or  who  will  tell  to  blooming  youth, 

With  life  full  flowing,  free, 
The  doubtful,  stern,  unyielding  truth, 

That  we  but  mortals  be? 


[39] 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  POETRY 

DEEP  in  the  silent  shades  of  night, 
When  slumber  spreads  her  drowsy  might 

O'er  hill  and  plain, 
I  hear  a  voice  both  sweet  and  clear, 
Attuned  unto  a  finer  ear, 

Pour  forth  its  strain. 

I  listen  to  the  spirit's  swell 
Reverberate  from  mount  to  dell 

And  back  again, 

Till  charmed  rocks  provoke  the  air 
With  subtlest  music,  soft  and  rare, 

With  their  refrain; 

Like  gifted  Orpheus's  tuneful  lyre, 
Whose  tender  tones  won  Pluto  dire 

From  wrathful  wrongs ; 
And  stayed  the  rocks  of  falling  steep ; 
And  lulled  the  monsters  of  the  deep, 

And  sirens'  songs. 

He  sings  and  sings  until  his  notes 
Resound  as  from  a  thousand  throats 

In  love  and  praise 
Of  nature  in  her  manifold 
Endearments  to  the  singer  old 

Of  "  Works  and  Days." 

[40] 


Oft  do  awakened  beasts  arise, 
And  raise  their  voices  to  the  skies, 

As  they  rejoice; 

And  heaven  and  earth  are  rocked  to  hear 
The  concord  of  the  general  cheer 

For  that  clear  voice. 

Though  wild  and  clear  its  music  runs, 
Scarce  mortal  ear  within  the  suns 

Can  it  compel ; 

The  ancient  minstrel's  wandering  grace, 
That  swayed  with  song  the  infant  race, 

Hath  lost  its  spell. 

Yet  sing,  brave  youth,  thy  wondrous  song 
Shall  full  and  free  its  notes  prolong 

O'er  desert  earth, 
Till  dawning  light  of  other  days 
Shall  reawaken  for  thy  lays 

A  nobler  birth. 

The  time  shall  come  when  men  will  turn 
Back  to  the  heart  that  now  they  spurn, 

To  hear  its  ring; 

When  song  and  gladness  shall  prevail 
O'er  carking  care  and  misery's  wail ; 

Then  sing,  youth,  sing! 


[41] 


O  MOTHER  with  thy  prattling  boy, 

In  that  sweet  baby's  birth 
Thou  hast  the  highest,  purest  joy, 

That  ever  comes  to  earth. 

The  cooing  laugh,  the  dimpled  smile, 

That  o'er  and  o'er  again 
Reflect  thy  happy  face  the  while, 

Assuage  the  child-birth  pain. 

With  willing  feet  and  cheerful  hands 

Unwearied  tasks  are  done; 
They  are  but  pleasures  he  demands, 

The  helpless  little  one. 

To  feed,  to  dress  —  a  thousand  cares 

Are  needed  all  the  way ; 
To  fill  with  love  his  many  prayers 

Makes  up  the  happy  day. 

To  nourish,  foster  and  to  bless, 
More  than  all  else  are  thine, 

With  love  and  faith  and  tenderness, — 
A  labor  most  divine. 

To  guide  his  ways,  to  train  his  mind, 
Be  thine  especial  care; 


His  future  fortunes  thou  shalt  find 
That  thou  canst  make  or  mar. 

To  him  the  ministrations  now; 

To  thee,  in  future  years, 
When  wrinkled  face  and  silvered  brow 

Compel  the  manhood  tears. 

To  thee  his  mind  will  ever  turn, 

As  type  of  thine  own  sex, 
When  youthful  dreams  his  soul  shall  burn, 

And  tender  questions  vex. 

Be,  then,  thy  gentle  ways  his  guide, 
Though  rough  the  path  of  life ; 

The  home,  thy  one,  essential  pride, 
The  tender,  loving  wife. 

Nor  let  the  frets  of  social  strife, 

Its  tale  of  rights  and  wrongs, 
Disturb  the  tenor  of  thy  life 

With  false  and  slanderous  tongues. 

To  play  the  man  is  not  thy  part, 

If  thou  wouldst  happy  be; 
But  act  most  nobly  what  thou  art 

Unto  eternity. 

Two  orbs  of  light  control  the  day 
In  glorious  majesty, 
[43] 


Each  in  its  well  appointed  way 
Transforms  the  murky  sky. 

Should  nature,  as  a  favored  boon, 
Transpose  their  'customed  light, 

The  million  suitors  of  the  moon 
Would  make  of  day  a  night. 

Sometimes  from  her  enchanted  bow, 

The  perfect  and  the  fair 
Essays  the  realm  of  day,  but  lo ! 

The  stars  desert  her  there! 

To  flee  the  glare  of  blinding  light, 

Her  misty  veil  she  tries ; 
Back  to  her  ancient  halls  of  night, 

A  fairer  being  she  flies. 

The  stars  again  receive  their  queen; 

Though  oft  deceived  before, 
They  pledge  to  her  their  brightest  sheen, 

Whom  lover  stars  adore. 

Like  as  the  sun  and  moon  revolve 

To  make  the  perfect  day, 
The  man  and  woman  must  resolve, 

And  nature's  law  obey. 

Thy  mother's  heart  will  ever  turn, 
When  these  teased  questions  come, 
[44.] 


To  where  the  fires  of  life  shall  burn, 
To  boys  and  girls  and  home. 

The  nation's  guard  thou  rearest  now; 

His  future  works  are  thine; 
A  halo  bright  surmounts  thy  brow ; 

Through  him  thou  art  to  shine. 

Cornelia  was  an  honored  name, 

As  knew  the  Romans  well ; 
She  made  the  worthy  Gracchi's  fame; 

Need  I  that  story  tell? 

What  greater  mothers  of  great  sons, 

Or  swayed  more  destiny, 
Than   Lincoln's,    Wilson's,    Washington's, 

Great  warders  of  the  free? 

Who,  then,  can  tell  what  destined  powers 

Are  hovering  o'er  the  land, 
To  guide  our  nation's  darker  hours, 

Swayed  by  a  mother's  hand? 

If  woman  search  the  whole  world  through, 

By  wealth  and  fame  beguiled, 
The  noblest  work  that  she  can  do 

Is  rear  a  little  child. 

Is  there  a  man  with  soul  so  small, 
That  in  his  latest  days, 

[45] 


His  heart  turns  not  to  youth's  loved  call 
With  tearful  joy  and  praise? 

Hard  pressed  in  life's  severest  fare, 

Where  storm  is  ever  rife, 
'Tis  then  he  turns  for  rest  and  care 

To  mother,  sister,  wife. 

To  him  the  little  flock  to  feed, 

To  make  a  home,  is  given; 
Be  hers  the  finer,  lovelier  deed, 

To  make  that  home  a  heaven. 


[46] 


THE  SCARECROW 

THE  cherries  were  ripening  daily 
In  the  glow  and  the  heat  of  the  sun, 

And  the  birds  were  all  singing  gaily, 
For  the  warmer  days  had  begun. 

In  the  tree-top  a  scarecrow  was  standing, 
With  his  old  straw  hat  and  his  cane; 

And  the  birds  there  to  leave  was  commanding, 
And  from  pecking  the  cherries  refrain. 

His  arms  o'er  his  head  he  was  folding 

In  every  gust  of  the  wind; 
He  was  blowing,  entreating  and  scolding; 

And  yet  they  would  creep  up  behind. 

He  would  bluster  and  threaten  and  worry, 
But  the  birds  didn't  care  much  for  that; 

They  would  come  and  peck  off  a  cherry, 
Then  go  straight  and  perch  on  his  hat. 

In  the  garden  two  lovers  were  sighing, 
And  their  plans  in  low  tones  telling  o'er, 

While  the  fruit  of  the  tree  they  were  eyeing, 
And  longing  for  a  taste  more  and  more, 

Till,  at  length,  'mong  the  boughs  he  was  stand 
ing* 
And  she,  with  her  apron  wide  spread, 

[47] 


Of  the  cherries  a  share  was  demanding, 
Though  "  No  cherries,"  he  teasingly  said. 

"  You  promised  to  give  me  a  portion, 

It  was  only  a  moment  ago," 
She  said  as  a  means  of  extortion, 

"  I  ne'er  thought  you  would  pester  me  so." 

Then  troubled  and  humbled  in  spirit, 

He  let  of  the  cherries  one  fall 
Down  into  her  apron,  or  near  it, 

The  brightest  and  ripest  of  all. 

Down,  down  from  the  branches  descending, 
With  his  hat  with  the  cherries  well  filled, 

To  the  lower  boughs  swaying  and  bending, 
Where  the  fruit  in  her  apron  he  spilled. 

"  Now,  you  rascal,  I've  all  of  your  pleasure," 

She  in  turn  so  banteringly  said, 
As  she  caught  in  her  apron  the  treasure, 

And  off  to  the  hammock  she  fled. 

Then  down  from  the  boughs  lightly  springing, 
With  a  skip  and  a  bound  and  a  whirl, 

He  found  in  the  hammock  a-swinging 
A  snug  place  by  the  loveliest  girl. 

"  Oh,  '  no  cherries  '  for  you,  Benny  Glover, 
Or,  at  most,  only  one,"  as  a  tease, 


She  then  said  to  her  penitent  lover, 

"  If  you  open  your  mouth  and  say  *  Please.' ' 

The  old  scarecrow  winked,  and  his  arms  flopt, 
And  he  laughed,  and  he  nodded  his  head, 

As  into  Bennie's  mouth  the  "  ones  "  dropt ; 
"  It's  the  old,  old  story,"  he  said. 

"l 


[49] 


DRUM  TAPS 

"  TAP  !  tap  f  "  the  drums  beat  warningly 

In  those  dark,  threatening  hours, 
When  loudly  rang  the  battle  cry, 

And  clashed  the  mighty  powers ; 
The  roll  of  drums,  the  cannons'  roar, 

Were  heard  on  every  side; 
The  battle's  flash  from  shore  to  shore 

Gleamed  o'er  the  ocean  wide! 

"  Tap !  tap  !  "  the  drums  beat  gloomily ; 

Long  raged  the  awful  din ; 
But  burning  zeal  lit  every  eye, 

Though  gallant  ranks  grew  thin; 
Yet  every  heart  rejoiced  to  see, 

When  late  the  war  was  done, 
The  human  soul  forever  free, 

The  Union  saved  in  one ! 

"  Tap !  tap !  "  the  drums  beat  mournfully, 

With  dirges  for  the  dead; 
'Neath  all  the  dome  of  summer  sky 

The  green-grown  mounds  are  spread; 
And  all  the  ranks  of  Northern  Blue, 

And  all  the  Southern  Gray, 
That  fought  around  their  standards  true, 

Are  scarred  and  worn  to-day ! 


[50] 


"  Tap !  tap !  "  the  drums  beat  cheerily ; 

The  nation's  whole  domain, 
Where'er  yon  banner  floats  on  high, 

Sings  now  one  glad  refrain ; 
And  who  shall  guard  that  flag  of  ours, 

On  harried  plain  or  wave, 
We'll  strew  their  graves  with  loving  flowers, 

And  grace  our  soldier  brave! 


[51] 


THE  WITHERED  FLOWER 

ONE  happy  morn  in  early  spring 

I  roved  beside  a  wood, 
As  hither  on  returning  wing 

Came  a  melodious  flood. 

Through  gloomy  depths  the  wild  woods  rang 

In  wondrous  harmony, 
As  happy  birds  their  carols  sang 

Beneath  a  smiling  sky. 

They  sang  of  south  land's  sunny  clime, 
Of  north's  bright,  golden  flowers, 

Awoke  from  sleep  in  warm  springtime 
By  gently  tapping  showers. 

The  laughing  flowers  danced  to  see 

Their  lovers  all  around, 
Singing  sweet  songs  from  bush  and  tree 

And  e'en  the  mossy  ground. 

And  as  they  nestled  in  the  green, 

Forth  from  his  winter  home, 
Began  the  squirrel  with  smiling  mien 

His  leafy  bowers  to  roam. 

The  brooks  had  from  their  crystal  tent 

Joyous  broke  forth  anew, 
To  wander  as  their  will  was  bent 

Beneath  the  sky's  pure  blue. 
[52] 


And  as  I  listened  to  the  song 

That  floated  to  my  ear, 
I  strayed  the  meadow  path  along, 

And  to  a  flower  drew  near  — 

A  lovely  flower  that  some  dull  hand 

Had  broken  from  its  stem; 
Now  had  it  graced  a  smiling  land, 

Now  drooped  a  rayless  gem. 

Then  as  I  reached  the  precious  flower, 
Whose  fragrant  breath  had  flown, 

Again  I  thought  of  that  stern  hour 
That  left  me  sad  and  lone, 

When  like  that  withered  flower  I  found 
(How  awful  was  the  truth!) 

A  fair,  bright  form  cast  to  the  ground 
To  wither  in  her  youth. 

Thus,  out  upon  the  world's  broad  way 

We  cannot  ever  tell 
The  tenure  of  our  earthly  stay ; 

We  hope  it  will  be  well. 


[53] 


A  WAYSIDE  FLOWER 

O  THOU  sweet  wayside  flower, 
That  in  thy  hues  reflect'st  the  morning  sky, 
And  waft'st  thy  perfume  to  the  passer-by, 

Thou  dost  beguile  the  hour; 

And  from  thy  glowing  heart, 
There,  swajang  lightly  on  thy  slender  stalk, 
Thou  stand'st  in  all  thy  beauty  by  the  walk, 

A  blessing  to  impart. 

O  thou  rare  treasure  dear, 
That  lift'st  thy  voice  upon  the  drifting  wind, 
And  pip'st  a  note  of  gladness  to  mankind 

That  their  dull  souls  may  hear ! 

Upon  the  desert  air 

Thou  fling'st  the  essence  of  thy  brimming  cup, 
And  call'st  the  bird  and  bee  that  they  may  sup 

The  golden  nectar  there. 

And  O  sweet  flower  demure, 
That  see'st  in  life  naught  but  the  good  of  men, 
Nor  count'st  it  dear,  nor  canst  be  glad  but  when 

Thou  thrill'st  their  lives  impure. 

One  happy  moment  thine 
To  wile  away  in  love  and  ecstasy, 
Bright  gem,  and  only  thou  canst  tell  me  why 

'Tis  offered  at  love's  shrine. 
[54] 


Thou  liv'st  thy  light  to  give; 
And  ere  thy  brightening  gleam  of  life  is  o'er, 
And  earth  rolls  on  in  darkness  as  before, 

Thy  lesson  I'll  receive. 

/ 

Not  in  some  clustered  bower 
Couldst  thou  have  told  me  of  thy  love  and  life, 
Or  shown  to  men  how  idle  is  their  strife, 

My  precious  wayside  flower. 


[55] 


THE  CHIMES  OF  CORNELL 

RING,  oh  ring,  sweet  peal  of  bells ! 
How  your  merry  music  swells 

With  the  hour ! 

Sweep  and  swell  the  mellow  notes, 
Floating  from  your  blended  throats 

In  the  tower! 

Ring  and  chime,  ye  stately  bells ! 
Send  your  notes  o'er  downs  and  dells ; 

Echo  long! 

Send  your  voice  across  the  years ; 
Echo,  e'er  the  wide  world  hears 

Your  grand  song! 

Nobly  ring  and  sweetly  chime 
With  the  rhythmic  roll  of  time, 

Tuneful  Bell! 

Travelers  on  the  troubled  sea 
Love  the  charming  melody 

Of  Cornell! 

Chime  and  ring,  ye  famous  bells ! 
While  life's  light  within  men  dwells 

Youths  will  all, 
From  Atlantic's  roaring  roll 
To  Pacific's  bounding  boll, 

List  your  call! 

[56] 


Ring,  oh  ring,  sweet  peal  of  bells ! 
As  your  swaying  music  swells 

With  the  hour, 

All  our  hearts  rehearse  the  notes 
Floating  from  your  blended  throats 

In  the  tower! 


[57] 


DOUBLE  RED  CROSS  POEMS 


Written  after  hearing  Dr.  Small  lecture  on  the  sub 
ject  "  King  Alcohol  at  Armaggedon,"  at  Sodus,  New 
York,  May  30,  1915. 

THE  war  against  the  tyrant  Alcohol 
Is  of  the  noblest  that  a  soul  can  wage, 
And  you,  who  lead  the  warriors  to  engage, 
Shall  crowned  with  glory  be  at  last,  Sam  Small. 
Not  threats  nor  wounds  from  thrice  the  pistol's 

shot 
Nor    bludgeons'    blows,    that    fell    about    your 

head 

And  left  you  fallen,  bleeding,  limp,  as  dead, 
Have  curbed  your  spirit,  swerved  your  course 

a  jot. 

The  road  is  forward  with  unyielding  fight, 
That  stretches  nation  wide,  from  state  to  state, 
Till  conquered  lies  and  slain  this  foe  of  men, 
And  ne'er  again  his  pimps  may  see  the  light, 
For  written  on  our  Constitution  great 
The  clause  shall  stand  that  guards  each  citizen. 


JIM'S  FIRST  DRINK 

"  ACCURSED  drink !  "  I  heard  him  say, 
And  closer  stepped  unto  the  grate 

Of   strong  walled  prison's  gloomy   cell, 
And  saw,  upon  his  fatal  day, 

A  prisoner  grim  that  crouching  sate, 
And  brooded  in  the  depths  of  hell; 
And  as  he  neared  death's  awful  brink, 
He  told  the  tale  of  "  accursed  drink  " : 

"  I  was  a  young  man  once  like  you ; 
Bright  were  the  prospects  of  my  life 
When  fell  to  me  my  father's  farm ; 
I  wooed  a  maiden  good  and  true, 
And  took  her  for  my  wedded  wife; 

Ne'er  thought  I  then  she'd  come  to  harm; 
Temptation  came;  I  did  not  think 
Of  ruin  from  a  single  drink. 

"  Fair  fortune  filled  our  lives  with  joys, 
And  we  were  free  from  grievous  cares ; 

Three  children  came  into  our  home, 
Three  fair-haired,  laughing,  bright-eyed  boys ; 
But  troubles  come  nigh  unawares 

When  father's  thoughts  begin  to  roam; 
'Tis  then  his  star  begins  to  sink ; 
That  first  glass  called  for  one  more  drink. 


[62] 


"  I  stayed  the  luring  call  at  first, 
Nor  barkened  to  the  power  of  sin 

That  sure  as  fate  came  creeping  on 
With  the  increasing,  burning  thirst, 
That  swept  away  my  will  within, 

And  ere  I  knew,  the  tempter  won, 
And  fastened  on  me,  link  by  link, 
The  fetter-chain  of  sin  and  drink. 

"  My  manhood,  pride  and  honor,  too, 

Our  farm  and  all  our  earthly  gain, 

My  savings  all,  and  hers  as  well, 

Whom  I  had  loved,  the  good  and  true, 

Went  down  into  the  fearful  bane 

Of  drinking,  gaming,  damning  hell, 
That  opened  from  the  fatal  chink 
So  wily  made  by  that  first  drink. 

"  And  her,  to  whom  I  pledged  my  troth 
When  she  was  fair  and  in  her  bloom, 
I  left  to  wander  through  the  earth 
To  gain  scant  substance,  garments,  both, 
And  shelter,  scarce  one  dingy  room, 

For  self  and  children,  for  whose  birth 
I,  thankless,  plunged  her  in  this  sink 
Of  loathsome  hell  by  that  first  drink. 

"  Oh,  would  my  horrid  tale  wrere  done ! 
But  sadder  yet:  one  night  I  bore 

Through  streets  and  alleys,  cold  and  dim, 
[63] 


Unto  that  garret,  sad  and  lone, 
And  roughly  pounded  on  the  door, 

When  quick  she  answered,  '  Hello,  Jim  ' ; 
Though  scarce  her  weary  eyes  could  blink, 
She  saw  that  I  was  crazed  with  drink. 

"  I  rudely  asked  the  scanty  wage 
That  she  had  earned  at  labors  few; 

Scarce  did  her  mother's  love  resist, 
When,  driven  by  a  drunken  rage, 

My  savage  greed  no  boundary  knew; 

I  struck  her  with  my  clenched  fist, 
And  ere  my  deeds  I  could  bethink, 
She  lay  a  victim  slain  by  drink. 

"  Dead  was  my  love  of  youthful  hour, 
Dead  was  the  wife  of  manhood  years, 

Dead  was  the  mother  of  my  boys, 
Dead,  and  did  no  retrieving  power, 
No  wildly  wailing  flood  of  tears, 

Recall  her  to  her  youthful  joys  — 
My  memory  from  the  scene  would  shrink 
Of  woeful  deeds  from  that  first  drink ! 

"  My  home  long  since  they  took  away, 
My  orphaned  boys  are  scattered  far, 

My  young  wife  lies  low  in  her  grave, 
Aye,  young  was  she,  though  care-worn  gray ; 
None  can  this  evil  train  debar 

Who  falls  to  demon  drink  a  slave; 
[64] 


These  are  the  woes  that  ever  slink 
Into  the  paths  of  those  that  drink ! 

"  The  time  draws  near ;  my  tale  is  done ; 
One  lone  hour  more  and  Jim  shall  lie 

Within  the  confines  of  the  tomb ! 
Oh,  boys,  hear  Jim,  leave  drink  alone! 
My  own  dear  boys,  hear  father's  cry !  — 
Hark !  hush !  I  hear  the  sheriffs  come ! 
Along  these  penance  walls  they  clink  — 
This  is  the  cost  of  that  first  drink !  " 


[65] 


THE  DRUNKARD'S  WIFE 

ALONE  I  sit,  a  drunkard's  wife, 
And  have  for  years  and  years, 

Draining  the  bitter  lees  of  life 
In  unavailing  tears. 

I  gave  my  love  and  life  to  one 
Who  loved  the  wine-glass  more; 

Ere  was  our  wedded  life  begun, 
'Twas  blighted  to  the  core. 

Deceived  by  drinker's  lying  tongue 
And  eke  his  blandished  wiles, 

I  fell  the  tangled  thorns  among 
To  tread  these  weary  miles. 

My  youthful  fortune  and  the  dream 
That  filled  my  girlhood's  breast, 

Are  scattered  like  the  flickering  gleam 
That  flits  before  the  oppressed. 

I  dreamed  a  happy  home  was  mine 
(Not  fortune's  store  of  gold), 

And  husband's  love  and  children  fine 
To  fill  our  family  fold. 

These  were  the  subjects  of  my  thought, 
And  these  my  every  care, — 

A  simple  home,  by  nature  taught, 
And  simple,  wholesome  fare. 
[66] 


But  oh,  the  change !  what  adverse  wind ! 

Unhappy  fate  for  me! 
I  have  for  spouse  a  drunken  hind, 

A  wreck  upon  life's  sea! 

And  children?     Oh,  what  cruelty 

To  bring  into  the  light 
A  little  child  with  moral  eye 

So  blinded  to  the  right! 

A  mother's  life  can  know  no  joys 

Whenever  she  must  think 
That  through  inheritance  her  boys 

Are  also  doomed  to  drink. 

And  do  our  girls  escape  the  snare, 
That  stamps  this  awful  curse? 

Ah !  no,  they  each  receive  a  share 
Like  to  our  boys,  or  worse ; 

For  they  must  see  their  children's  doom 

Unto  this  awful  spell, 
And  clouds  of  fear  and  shades  of  gloom 

Intenser  far  than  hell. 

Our  little  Freddie's  fate  was  kind, 

I'm  sure  I  ought  to  say; 
He  had  a  trouble  of  the  mind, 

And  died  an  early  day ; 

[67] 


And  Martha,  too ;  I  scarcely  know 

What  really  ailed  the  child; 
For  she  it  was  received  that  blow 

From  drunken  father  wild. 

My  Richard  on  the  downward  road 

Already  leads  his  way; 
And  spite  his  mother's  tearful  load 

He  heeds  no  pleading  stay. 

And  all  my  children,  would  that  they 

Had  ne'er  to  this  been  born, 
To  feel  the  drink  curse's  awful  sway, 

And  lead  a  life  forlorn. 

I  scarcely  know  the  "  husband's  love  " 

That  filled  my  girlish  mind; 
It  seemed  so  like  the  heaven  above, 

And  even  yet  more  kind. 

But  oh,  the  truth !     What  varied  blames ! 

What  oaths !  a  kick,  a  blow, 
A  choking  and  the  foulest  names, 

Are  all  the  "  love  "  I  know ! 

How  poor  and  scanty  is  our  fare 

I  cannot  even  say, 
For  hunger  is  the  constant  share 

Doled  out  from  day  to  day. 

[68] 


Our  clothing  is  the  meanest  tags, 

Cast  off  by  rich  and  boor, 
Or  culled  from  pawnshop's  reeking  rags, 

Or  given  by  the  poor. 

Our  home  is  but  this  gaping  hut 

That  ill  withstands  the  cold, 
While  through  the  wintry  storm  blasts  cut, 

To  chill  the  little  fold. 

Oh,  were  this  all  the  misery 

Entails  a  drunken  spouse; 
Oh,  were  this  tale  of  wrongs  to  die 

When  dies  this  long  carouse! 

But  woes  untold  wait  wife  and  child 

Beyond  his  latest  breath, 
When  in  his  faithless  crimes  and  wild 

Disease  lurks,  worse  than  death. 

My  days  are  full  of  drudging  care, 

To  earn  a  little  food ; 
My  nights  will  scarce  a  moment  spare 

For  my  own  family's  good; 

And  when  I've  saved  a  scanty  store, 

My  heart  must  often  sink 
To  find,  as  I  have  oft  before, 

It's  all  been  stolen  for  drink. 

[69] 


Oh,  hark!  was  that  the  howling  wind 
Went  sighing  through  the  trees, 

Leaving  its  sting  of  cold  behind, 
And  things  like  me  to  freeze? 

The  wild  night  shudders ;  and  the  blast 

That  furious  drives  the  snow, 
May  pierce  his  staggering  form  prone  cast, 

And  leave  an  icy  brow. 

I'm  startled  at  each  sudden  noise 

That  falls  upon  my  ear; 
I  tremble  for  my  girls  and  boys, 

And  fear  a  mother's  fear. 

I  scarcely  know  a  moment's  lull 
From  dread  and  boding  thought; 

So  have  my  aching  days  been  full, 
So  anxious  nights  been  fraught, 

Yet  why  I  tremble  know  I  not; 

I'm  sure  with  baited  breath, 
As  respite  from  this  dismal  lot, 

I've  longed  and  prayed  for  death. 

But  mother's  love  still  lifts  me  up 

Above  this  gloomy  plain, 
One  hope  that  still  my  bitter  cup 

May  bitter  not  remain. 

[70] 


One  gleaming  ray  upon  me  beams, 
Through  darkness  unalloyed, — 

A  hope  that  through  the  ages  streams, 
To  see  the  curse  destroyed. 

The  tempter  then  could  hold  no  lure 

To  snare  unwary  boys ; 
And  girls,  from  trailing  stain  most  pure, 

Would  crown  a  mother's  joys. 

Oh,  could  the  world  but  know  the  woes 
That  fill  a  drunkard's  home; 

Could  it  but  realize  the  throes 
That  seal  its  awful  doom ; 

Could  judges  of  the  highest  law 

Our  welfare  but  promote; 
Could  they  but  know  this  dragon's  maw, 

And  see  his  ugly  throat; 

Could  men  of  science  tell  the  tale 

Disease  is  working  here, 
Tell  how  consumption  ghastly  pale 

Is  rampant  far  and  near; 

Could  God  in  love  look  down  upon 

Our  misery  and  despair, 
This  curse,  that  trails  from  sire  to  son, 

Would  vanish  with  my  prayer. 

[71] 


SONGS  OF  LABOR 


THE  MASTER  MASON 

CLINKING,  clinking,  ever  clinking, 
O'er  the  bricks  the  trowels  fall, 

While  the  masters  all  are  thinking 
Of  the  building  of  their  wall. 

Higher,  higher,  ever  higher 

Still,  the  bricks  mount  one  by  one, 

As  the  work  grows  ever  nigher 
To  the  glory  of  the  sun. 

Hark!  I  hear  a  master  singing 

Some  old  poet's  skillful  line, 
While  his  busy  trowel  is  ringing, 

As  it  beats  a  measure  fine. 

'Tis  in  times  afar  and  hoary, 

Merry  England's  golden  age, 
When  the  tragic  muse's  bright  glory 

Gleamed  upon  fair  Fancy's  stage ; 

When  from  out  the  dark  eternal, 
Rang  a  woodnote,  sweet  and  wild, 

From  that  voice  sublime,  supernal, 

"  Sweetest  Shakespeare,  Fancy's  child." 

Still  I  hear  the  master  singing, 

Gaining  volume  in  his  song, 
While  his  soul  its  flight  is  winging, 

And  its  notes  are  flowing  strong. 
[75] 


'Tis  the  pile  of  Fame  that's  building; 

And  his  work  is  nearly  done; 
Near  a  dome  of  brightest  guilding 

Shines  resplendent  as  the  sun. 

Far  away  the  temple's  gleaming, 

Crowned  with  brilliant  thoughts  of  men ; 

Through  the  ages  thine  are  streaming, 
Master  mason,  "  O  rare  Ben !  " 


[76] 


HANS  SACHS 

IN  a  quaint  old  German  city, 

Many,  many  years  ago, 
Sat  a  cobbler-poet  singing, 

As  his  shoes  he  used  to  sew; 

And  his  songs  were  full  of  sweetness, 
Full  of  lingered  tales  of  yore; 

But  whene'er  he  told  a  story, 

'Twas  much  sweeter  than  before. 

He  would  sing  unto  the  people, 
As  he  drew  his  thread  of  flax, 

For  the  people  loved  the  singer 
Of  the  gentle  craft,  Hans  Sachs. 

Oft  he  sang  in  simple  ditties; 

For  the  artless  was  his  song; 
They  have  sung  them  and  have  cherished, 

Cherished,  and  have  sung  them  long. 

Oft  in  higher  realms  of  music, 

As  the  numbers  rolled  their  round, 

From  the  lips  of  Hans,  the  cobbler, 
Burst  a  glad,  exulting  sound; 

Or  with  strains  full,  histrionic, 
Did  he  check  the  flight  of  years, 

While  he  wore  his  cobbler's  apron, 
And  revolved  among  his  peers. 
[77] 


Early  in  the  morning  pegging, 
Stitching  with  a  master's  will 

Shoes  that  long  are  past  all  wearing, 
Sang  he  songs  that  echo  still. 

At  his  bench  I  see  him  sitting, 
Drawing  out  his  thread  of  flax, 

And  his  songs  the  artist  singing, 
He  the  cobbler-bard,  Hans  Sachs. 


[78] 


A  SONG  OF  THE  FORGE 

WITH  the  bright  dews  of  the  morning, 
When  bold  chanticleer  gives  warning 

For  the  rising  of  the  sun; 
Then  the  smith  with  busy  fingers 
Loiters  not,  nor  lately  lingers, 

Till  his  morning's  work's  begun. 

Fast  the  forge  and  faster  blowing, 
Till  its  sooty  throat  is  glowing, 

Where  the  flaring  embers  play ; 
Spits  and  hisses  out  a  flurry 
Of  bright  sparks  in  wonted  hurry 

For  the  labor  of  the  day. 

Lo!  the  stubborn  iron  is  heating, 
While  the  blacksmith  is  entreating 

With  his  coaxing  pat  and  poke, 
Till,  at  last,  the  glowing  member 
Leaves  behind  the  lagging  ember, 

With  its  curling,  wavering  smoke. 

Now  the  hammer's  shrilly  ringing, 
And  the  master's  gaily  singing 

To  the  music  of  his  blow, 
While  the  fireflies  in  a  shower 
Thick  the  sturdy  smith  embower 

In  their  momentary  glow. 

[79] 


Thwack !  thwack !  thwack !  the  anvil's  pealing, 
Till  the  air  around  is  reeling, 

With  the  sharp,  vibrating  sound, 
And  the  ear  in  sorrow's  yielding, 
While  the  tingling  blows  are  wielding, 

For  the  master's  song  is  drowned. 

Still  the  iron  is  brightly  burning, 
While  the  smith  is  turning,  turning 

To  the  rhythm  of  his  song, 
Till  with  many  a  pound  and  hammer, 
With  its  loudly  ringing  clamor, 

Steady  blows  the  heat  prolong. 

Finally  the  heavy  ringing 
Ceases  with  the  artful  swinging 

Of  the  wonder-working  sledge ; 
Thus  are  shaped  in  fullest  measure 
Works  for  labor,  works  for  pleasure, 

E'en  the  weight-defying  wedge. 

Then  with  tempering,  fitting,  filing, 
Piece  with  piece  thus  reconciling, 

Till  the  fabric's  made  anew; 
Strength  and  beauty  so  uniting, 
Bend  and  break  by  deftly  righting, 

Brings  the  master  into  view. 

Thus  with  ceaseless  round  of  toiling, 
Ne'er  from  duty  once  recoiling 
In  his  field  of  labor  wide, 
[80] 


Works  the  smith  with  broad  endeavor, 
Giving  and  receiving  favor, 
Till  the  fall  of  eventide. 


[81] 


THE  DRIVING  PLANE 

I  SEE  the  timbers  piling  high, 
And  o'er  the  beams  the  men  glide  by, 
As  they  erect  a  dextrous  proof 

Against  the  sunshine  and  the  rain 
In  many  a  corner-gullied  roof; 
Nor  dizzy  heights  they  seem  to  fear, 
Though  far  below  they  faintly  hear 

The  swish-swish  of  the  driving-plane! 

The  busy  hammers  ever  ply, 
As  up  against  the  mottled  sky 
The  sloping  rafters  in  a  row, 
Adroitly  fitted  with  a  gain, 
Are  joined  with  timbers  down  below; 
And  through  the  hive  like  linking  cells, 
A  busy  murmur  ever  swells, 

As  nimbly  sweeps  the  driving  plane ! 

I  hear  the  busy  rush  of  saws, 
Their  forward  thrusts,  their  backward  draws, 
As  clearly  through  the  seasoned  wood 

They  send  the  golden  dust  like  grain, 
Sown  where  the  waving  forest  stood, 
And  ever  like  the  drowsy  wind, 
Whose  dreamy  pathway  it  would  find, 

I  hear  the  swish  of  the  driving  plane! 


[82] 


Thus  push  the  planes  those  brawny  arms ; 
Thus  nimbly  move  those  agile  forms, 
As  backward,  forward,  o'er  and  o'er, 

Their  trumpets  wind  the  old  refrain, 
While  spiral  curls  drop  to  the  floor, 
And  pile  it  high  with  ringlets  light, 
Like  woodland  fairies  in  their  flight 

Before  the  swish  of  the  driving  plane! 

From  pointed  roof  to  cellar  wall, 
Its  countless  strokes  continued  fall 
Upon  my  eye,  when  cast  around 

On  altered  scenes  once  and  again, 
Where  grace  and  comfort  now  abound, 
To  bid  the  weary  wanderer  come 
And  taste  the  tender  sweets  of  home: 

How  nobly  works  the  driving  plane! 

I  look  abroad,  and  round  and  round, 

O'er  all  the  world  that  I  have  found, 

And  see  the  varied  works  of  men, 

Whose  fickle  lives  must  wax  and  wane; 
They  build  but  to  rebuild,  and  then 
'Twill  be  for  an  ambitious  son 
To  do  as  his  own  sire  has  done: 

Again  resounds  the  driving  plane! 


[83] 


A  SONG  FROM  THE  PLOW 

How  gayly  through  the  morning  air 

The  plowboy  plods  along, 
And  drives  his  team,  a  dapple  pair, 

That  listen  to  his  song! 

He  cracks  his  whip  in  joyful  glee, 

As  down  the  meadow  lane 
His  team  is  walking  merrily, 

Yet  needs  no  curbing  rein. 

The  blackbird,  too,  has  caught  his  song 

In  swaying  on  a  bush, 
And  cheerily  the  notes  prolong 

In  many  a  quavering  gush. 

The  mild  air  full  of  gladness  seems, 

And  all  the  trees  and  flowers 
Have  wakened  from  their  nodding  dreams 

And  solitary  hours. 

The  dewy  glebe,  that  now  is  broke, 
Rolls  from  the  passing  share, 

And  meek-eyed  daisies  have  awoke 
To  pay  their  tribute  there. 

As  o'er  the  meadow  field  they  pass, 

In  each  successive  round, 
A  bird  flies  from  the  tufted  grass ; 

Her  nest  is  on  the  ground. 
[84] 


She  flies  in  terror  to  a  stalk, 
From  stalk  back  to  her  nest, 

And  trembles  at  the  heavy  walk, 
Nor  knows  what  course  is  best. 

The  plowboy  sees  her  quaking  fright, 
And  hears  her  mother's  cry ; 

He  is  no  cruel,  heartless  wight; 
A  tear  comes  in  his  eye. 

He  stops  to  heed  the  fluttering  bird, 

And  set  her  anguish  free; 
He  takes  her  nest  with  kindly  word, 

And  stalls  it  'neath  a  tree. 

Oh,  happy  is  the  soul  of  him 
Who  speaks  a  smiling  word, 

Or  brings  back  from  dark  danger's  brim 
A  little,  trembling  bird ! 

O  noble  Burns,  it  was  thy  thought, 
When  thou  didst  drive  the  plow, 

That  no  wee  creature  stood  for  naught; 
Thy  soul,  it  liveth  now ! 

The  team  moves  on  'neath  brighter  skies, 

With  free,  majestic  grace; 
The  world  reflects  in  purer  eyes 

An  inward,  outward  peace. 

[85] 


The  solemn  hours  that  wont  to  move 
With  laggard  pace  behind, 

Are  now  in  zealous  haste  to  prove 
Their  kinship  with  the  wind! 

The  honest  plowboy's  guileless  heart, 
That  thinks  no  one  a  wrong, 

Whose  simple  life  is  nature's  art, 
Again  breaks  forth  in  song. 

Oh,  may  that  simple  son  of  Ayr, 

In  spirit  present  now, 
Guide  every  cleaving  colter's  share, 

Ye  warders  of  the  plow ! 


[86] 


APPLE  BLOSSOMS 

DOWN  along  the  pasture  lane, 
Where  the  cows  go  one  by  one, 

Skipped  and  tumbled  Nell  and  Wayne 
O'er  the  wall  where  Rove  had  gone, 

Where  the  blooming  apple  trees 

Shook  their  perfume  on  the  breeze. 

Mingled  thus  the  buds  and  flowers 
With  the  leaves  of  verdant  hue, 

In  the  early  morning  hours, 

Glistening  bright  with  drops  of  dew, 

Seemed  to  the  resplendent  eye 

Like  a  garden  in  the  sky. 

Long  and  loud  the  children  laughed, 
As  the  blossoms  floated  down, 

On  the  vernal  zephyrs  waft, 

Made  the  earth  a  floral  crown; 

Pink  and  white  and  red  ones,  too, 

From  the  swaying  branches  blew. 

How  they  played  and  romped  and  run! 

Merry  lad  and  happy  lass, 
Where  the  blossoms  in  the  sun 

Gleamed  like  snowflakes  on  the  grass ; 
Rover,  too,  with  joyous  bound, 
Barked  along  and  spurned  the  ground. 

[87] 


Further  down  in  thickest  shade 
Walked  the  farmer  and  his  son ; 

Noted  well  whene'er  they  staid, 
Trees  which  still  the  buds  were  on ; 

And  it  gladdened  them  to  see 

Promised  fruit  on  every  tree. 

All  around  them  in  the  sun, 

'Mongst  the  blossoms  on  the  trees, 

Chimed  the  never-ending  tune 
Of  the  busy  honey  bees, 

Gathering  in  a  precious  store, 

Such  as  never  Hermes  bore. 

Double  blessings  are  the  bees, 

As  they  wander  'mong  the  flowers, 

Bearing  pollen,  like  the  breeze, 
Far  into  the  petaled  bowers ; 

Fruit  and  nectar  thus  they  bring, 

Blessed  workers  on  the  wing. 

Far  and  wide  the  orchard  spread, 
With  its  blossoms  full  and  fair; 

On  and  on  the  children  sped, 
Drinking  in  the  balmy  air; 

None  enjoying  more  than  they 

This,  the  fairest  day  in  May. 


[88] 


GATHERING  APPLES 

FROM  the  barn  and  neighboring  stall, 
Ladder,  basket,  gathering-bag, 

Took  the  farmer  in  the  fall, 

Led  by  Rove  with  knowing  wag, 

Wayne  and  Nellie,  one  and  all, 

Down  along  the  orchard  wall. 

This  was  apple-gathering  time, 
And  the  farmer  with  his  son 

Sought  them  out,  when  in  their  prime, 
Ere  the  pleasant  days  were  done, 

Ere  November's  cold  and  chill 

Touched  the  apples'  juicy  fill. 

Green  and  red  the  apples  were, 

Brown  and  golden,  smooth  and  fair, 

Striped  and  spotted  here  and  there, 
Large  and  juicy,  ripe  and  rare; 

Scarce  in  all  the  country  round 

Such  an  orchard  could  be  found. 

Famous  were  the  orchards  here, 
Famous  throughout  every  land; 

None  were  like  them,  far  or  near ; 
Such  a  stock  and  such  a  brand ! 

Justly  might  the  man  be  proud, 

And  his  will  he  thus  avowed: 

[89] 


"  Pick  these  apples,  good  men,  all ; 

Handle  each  with  special  care; 
Bruise  not  one,  nor  let  it  fall, 

For  when  apples  bruised  are, 
They'll  not  keep  for  winter's  use, 
When  the  storm  clouds  hold  no  truce. 

"  I  could  wish  that  every  man 

Had  of  these  abundant  store; 
We  will  spare  whate'er  we  can, 
Still  retaining  for  the  poor; 
E'en  in  this  broad,  smiling  land, 
We  must  lend  a  helping  hand. 

"  When  the  wintry  blasts  blow  chill, 

And  I  at  my  warm  fireside 
Feel  exultant  pleasure's  thrill 

At  the  taste  of  these,  my  pride, 
I  shall  feel  rejoiced  the  more 
When  with  me  rejoice  the  poor." 

Then  the  men,  ere  winter's  snows, 
Picked  the  apples,  green  and  red; 

Piled  them  into  long  windrows 
Carefully,  as  he  had  said; 

For  his  men  all  served  him  well, 

As  their  labor  oft  did  tell. 

Thus  they  gathered  day  on  day ; 
Barreled  all  the  apples  sound; 
[90] 


Dried  all  those  they  culled  away; 
Scarcely  one  was  left  around; 
So  preserving  all  with  care 
From  destructive  forces  there. 

Oft  the  children's  merry  cry 

Sounded  through  the  autumn  days ; 
And  the  work  went  merrily, 

Cheered  by  youthful,  careless  ways, 
Till  fatigue  and  gloom  were  gone, 
Till  old  age  and  youth  were  one. 


[91] 


THE  ORCHARD  IN  WINTER 

SIGHING,  moaning,  whistled  the  wind ; 

Snapping,  cracking,  creaked  the  trees ; 
Rolling,  curling,  flurried  entwined 

Rustling  leaves  in  twos  and  threes, 
As  the  timid  rabbit  fled 
O'er  the  snow  with  fearful  tread. 

Clearly,  brightly,  shone  the  moon 
Through  a  rifted  bank  of  clouds, 

Full  orbed  as  the  sun  at  noon, 
On  the  orchard  clad  in  shrouds, 

With  its  fingers,  long  and  white, 

Gleaming  in  the  pallid  light. 

Slowly,  drearily,  passed  the  time, 

Till,  at  last,  one  fell  asleep, 
Cold  and  numb  with  frost  and  rime, 

Though  its  blood  in  rootlets  deep; 
Yet  it  dreamed  of  a  bright  clime, 
Boys  and  girls  and  Christmastime. 

Round  a  hemlock  lighted  gay, 

Strung  with  candy,  nuts  and  corn, 

Children  prattled  at  their  play; 
No  one  seemed  to  be  forlorn, 

For  the  old  man's  watchful  care 

Did  provide  for  each  one  there. 


Toys  and  gifts  of  varied  sort, 

Coats  and  shoes  and  books  and  cart, 

Were  occasion  for  their  sport, 
For  this  man  of  noble  heart 

Spent  the  happiest  of  his  days 

Showing  children  thrifty  ways. 

Then  with  merry  joke  and  jest, 
Spun  the  old  man  yarns  of  old, 

Told  of  hunting  in  the  West 
Bison  wild  and  bears  and  gold ; 

While  they  munched  the  apples  red, 

Listening  all  to  what  he  said. 

When  the  old  man's  tales  were  o'er, 
Jingled  up  the  horse  and  sleigh; 

Took  the  children  at  the  door; 
And  the  moon  blinked,  in  his  way, 

When  the  tree  woke  in  a  fright 

At  the  children's  warm,  "  Good-night." 


[93] 


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